


Plus, Arrows

by BlushingDragon



Series: The Rogue Trevelyans [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Though the emotional aftermath of story quests is in there of course, Trevelyan (Dragon Age) has Sibling(s), focus is on relationship not the main storyline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-12-09 08:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11665569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushingDragon/pseuds/BlushingDragon
Summary: She practically fell out of the sky and chose to land on him specifically, and somehow, he can't seem to make himself mind.





	1. Prologue - Brothers, Good and Bad

Everything seemed to be split into a Before and an After for the first few days. Before the Conclave, Cullen's biggest worries were wondering what exactly Cassandra and the Divine had in mind for him when they offered him a job out of Kirkwall, if the decision to kick the lyrium would kill him or not, and if Cassandra really was going to kill that chatty dwarf once she could get away with it.

Before the Conclave, Cullen had never even heard the name Alyss Trevelyan.

 _After_ was a clamour of action, everyone rushing to do whatever they could while the echo of too late too late rang in their heads. After was the rush of battling demons again, kept on his toes and on the edge of a precipice. After was an arrow zipping past his face to dispatch a shade, the gleam of dark green eyes, the crook of one red eyebrow as a pithy remark struck as hard and fast as one of her arrows.

She practically fell out of the sky and chose to land on him specifically, and somehow, he couldn't seem to make himself mind.

Cullen doesn't follow Trevelyan and Cassandra into the Temple, and during the dreadful waiting, he almost regrets it. He and his soldiers would've made easier work of the Pride demon, saved more of Leliana's archers and scouts. The sight that greets him at Haven, however, is work enough for him. The pilgrims are scared and disorganised, his soldiers need medical attention, and someone needs to run intervention on Chancellor Roderick in the absence of Cassandra and Leliana.

To Cullen's surprise, that last task is already being covered. In front of the chantry stood a young man in dark leathers, with two daggers-each as long as him arm-strapped to his back. His red hair was pulled away from his face and brushing his shoulders, and his green eyes were narrowed as he talked with the Chancellor. His hands moved quickly as he talked, indicating his quickly depleting patience.

"...guarantee it," the stranger declared firmly.

Chancellor Roderick scoffed haughtily. "While your family has always been profoundly supportive of the Chantry, Lord Trevelyan, the evidence cannot be more clear: your sister is the only suspect and as such, must be taken to Val Royaux for trial."

Just as Cullen was about to step in, a rolling crash thundered behind them, and all of Haven looked to the sky in the same instant. One wave of light rolled through the sky, then a second, and when Cullen slowly lowered his arm from his eyes, everything was still. The entire village, the whole world, seemed to hold its breath waiting for the Breach to pulse again, for the now-hauntingly-familiar spit and crackle of energy, but it never came. Cullen let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and a thunderous cheer rose up from Haven’s inhabitants.

"Given that my sister may have just saved all of your lives, I sincerely hope that you will eat your words, Lord Chancellor," the redhead spoke frostily. He then turned to Cullen, and extended a hand.

“Nathanael Trevelyan,” he introduced himself. “You came in from the valley, right? Did you see my sister? Long red hair, scar on her forehead, red tattoo beside her left eye? Probably leaping into battle with a bow like someone with a death wish?”

“Commander Cullen Rutherford,” he replied, grasping his hand firmly. Up close, he could see now that Lord Trevelyan had the same freckles as his sister, but his eyes were a brighter shade of green. His red and dark brown leathers were practical, not at all something Cullen would expect from an Ostwick lordling. Of course, Alyss hadn't seemed like an Ostwick lady when she’d fired an arrow just past his face. Nathanael's picture of his sister was… a pretty apt description of what Cullen had seen in the battle.

“Yes, I saw your sister in the valley,” Cullen added. “I’m sure that Lady Trevelyan will be safe with Seeker Cassandra and Sister Leliana by her side.”

To Cullen’s surprise, his remark startled a laugh out of Nathanael. “You don't know Alyss very well, do you? If trouble doesn't find her, she’ll go find it herself.”

"Is that what she was doing at the Conclave in the first place? Finding trouble?" Cullen asked.

"The opposite, actually. Any Trevelyan that doesn't inherit the title usually is drafted into Chantry service; two of our siblings are Templars, for instance. Alyss, though, couldn't stand to have her fate decided for her. The trip was supposed to be a punishment. At the last minute, I decided to come after her, to make sure she didn't do something idiotic." Nathanael glanced at the Breach for a moment, then down at the ground. "That lateness saved my life, apparently. I wasn't in the Temple when..."

Cullen nodded in silent understanding and clapped Trevelyan on the shoulder in what was supposed to be an act of comfort. He wished he could say something to fill the silence in the air, but now, with the Breach calmed and no sight of the Lady Trevelyan, Cullen knew that the only thing they could do was wait.

Thankfully, the party arrived in Haven just before sunset. After the first few hours, Nathanael had taken to pacing just outside the gates, and so it was his shouts that caught Cullen’s attention and sent him running for the gates. Cassandra and Leliana had the slumped red headed figure of Alyss Trevelyan supported between them, but as Nathaniel skidded to a stop beside them, he immediately took the weight from Leliana.

“There's an apothecary in the village, right?” demanded Nathaniel, wide eyes not leaving his sister for an instant.

“Of course, Lord Trevelyan,” Leliana answered smoothly. Cullen wasn't even going to ask how she already knew who he was; he’d learned by now just to accept that Leliana probably knew everything. “There’s an empty cabin with some sparse furnishings over there, get her situated, and I’ll send Adan to look her over. Cassandra, come with me.”

The Seeker immediately gave Cullen a rather pointed look, which was how Cullen was easing one shoulder to prop up the unconscious Trevelyan, trying to avoid being poked in the face by the arrows in her quiver. 

Nathanael, though, was smiling wide even as his sister’s long hair caught swept into his face by the wind. He eased his sister into the bed in the cabin, smoothing her hair away from her face and letting it free of its long tail. With deft fingers, Nathanael tied it up again in a neat bun atop her head. Cullen remembered Rosie’s ire when she would demand he do her hair, only to discover he had no talent for tying up hair.

He must’ve made some noise, because Nathanael's head snapped around to look at him, and Cullen felt cornered. He muttered something or other about needing a moment alone, and fled the cabin with as must grace as he could muster. He told himself that it was a perfectly sound tactical retreat, but Cullen never had been good at lying to himself. He knew that he was really running from a worried family in the South Reach, and from the shadow of the man who haunted the streets of Kirkwall. 


	2. Chapter 2

Alyss Trevelyan was pretty sure she was still in shock. Or the cold had finally frozen her brain. She couldn’t wrap her head around what had happened over the last few days (week? It had only felt like three days to her, though,) and as she sat on the steps of the cabin she’d woken up in, staring at the stars and that damnable Breach, she wasn’t sure that she _could_. She remembered what Varric had said earlier, about hoping for a damn good punchline, and chuckled to herself mirthlessly.

“Andraste’s Herald, they call me,” muttered Alyss under her breath. “Daft fanatics, the lot of them.”

Just _saying_ the Prophet’s name hurt, and it was only from living near twenty years in her mother’s home that Alyss hadn’t immediately flinched the first time someone called her “Herald”. Being the daughter of a noble house earned you a damn good Wicked Grace face, after all. Alyss had hoped that _that_ part of her life had been over, though. That was why she’d firmly insisted that she was no Herald, that she didn’t believe in their Maker, despite the way Cassandra’s look of disappointment had pierced her like an arrow from her own bow.

Alyss had said she was done living for other people, had promised that she would only live for herself. And now, here she was, figurehead of a heretical movement and trapped into saying words she doesn’t mean and the image of a goddess she doesn’t believe in super-imposed on her.

With her head in her hands, she heard the footsteps before she sees their owner, and only one other insomniac sprung to mind. A weak smile was already stretched across her face and her brother’s name half out of her mouth when she recognised the blond hair and the fur mantle of the unwitting intruder.

“…Commander Cullen,” she greeted him. She didn’t stand, but the smile didn’t fall from her face either.

His eyes, wide and taken aback, flicked from her to the ground then back to her again. “Lady Trevelyan,” he replied with a stiff nod.

It wasn't “Herald” like she had ~~dreaded~~ expected, and so her smile grew a little wider. She asked, “What’s a busy man like you doing, wandering the village at this time of night?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward at that, pulling the scar on his lip. “The same as you, evidently: not sleeping," retorted Cullen, not unkindly. The mirthless smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Back in the war room, Alyss hadn't been sure that the man had a sense of humor, but now he pulled a weak chuckle out of her. "I've had three solid days of sleep," she retorted lightly, "What's your excuse, Commander?"

The stricken look on his face made Alyss want to bite through her tongue as punishment for its glibness. She stood, and hesitantly placed a hand on his arm.

"You don't have to tell me," she murmured apologetically. "Clearly, that was in bad taste."

Cullen smiled a weary smile and nodded mutely. Thankfully, he didn't shake off Alyss' hand, and she was glad to feel the warmth leech through his clothes. It made the moment real, not some bullshit from the Fade.

"I never said, in the war room," Alyss blurted, "but... I'm glad you survived, too. You seem like a good man, and we already lost too many of those."

Without his armor, she could feel Cullen’s arm twitch under her touch, and he ducked his head for a moment. “I- Thank you, Herald,” replied Cullen.

Alyss stepped back at that, the smile finally dropping from her face. “Not that,” she insisted firmly. “Either ‘Alyss’, or ‘Lady Alyss’, if you really have to. I’ll even respond to ‘Lady Trevelyan’, if you need that sort of professionalism, Commander, but please, not Herald.”

Taken aback by her words, his amber eyes widened as he stepped back slightly. Still, he nodded shortly and replied, "As you wish, Lady Alyss. I... hope you sleep well."

Cullen stepped away, turning on one heel back toward wherever his cabin was-- if it was a cabin at all. Alyss hoped it was. Couldn’t have the Commander freezing to death in a tent at nights, even if he was a cold-resistant Fereldan. Her hand was still warm from laying on his arm, for fuck’s sake.

Alyss shook her head briefly before stepping into her cabin. Something about Cullen was definitely trouble, and despite the doom and gloom hanging over their heads, the part of her that loved trouble just couldn't wait to find out what.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally, this chapter and the next one were going to be one whole chapter, but the next chapter is being a pain, so i split them up.


	3. The Trevelyans are Terrible Gossips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, the author attempts to solidify characterization with mostly dialogue. It's a filler chapter, folks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating a strong T for Alyss's language.

The perks of being a light sleeper were many when you were camping in a war zone. Waking up quickly was an edge that might save your life if your camp was ambushed by rebel mages or rogue Templars. Alyss wouldn't consider being woken up before the sunrise by screeching birds a perk, however, and shifted in her bedroll for the tenth time in as many minutes.

Alyss closed her eyes and relaxed her shoulders. The loudest bird seemed to have finally quit making it's racket, so perhaps she could rest a while longer….

A loud screech cut the air, and Alyss winced. Perhaps not, then. Reluctantly, she pulled on her leathers and slung her quiver and bow across her back before exiting her tent. The morning wind blew her hair out of her face, and Alyss smiled at the feeling of the breeze on her skin.

“Morning, Spitfire,” Varric greeted her from his place by the low campfire. As she sat down next to the dwarf, he frowned suddenly and shook his head.

Alyss' brows furrowed. "What?"

"It doesn't fit," Varric explained. "You're a _morning person_ ," he added with no small amount of surprise.

"Just because the world's gone to shit doesn't mean I shouldn't enjoy breakfast," countered Alyss as she began to rummage through her pack. Upon coming up with dried druffalo meat, she began to chew on it thoughtfully.

Varric only smiled and shook his head before returning his attention to the parchments spread around him. Alyss spotted the word "Kirkwall", but before she could ask him about it, a rustle of branches caught her attention. 

The sight of Nathanael carrying what looked like a bushel of elfroot didn't surprise Alyss-- in fact, it was a relief to see her brother amicably chattering away about plants once more. She simply hadn't expected Solas to be carrying a bushel alongside him and looking genuinely interested in what he was saying.

Instinctively, Alyss narrowed her eyes. Something about Solas rubbed her wrong, despite all that she didn't care that he was a mage and an elf. He couldn't change those things, so Alyss didn't hold them against him. However, she could hold hurting Nathanael against him, if that were to ever happen. She resolved to watch Solas more closely when around her brother.

“Chuckles, Snapdragon,” Varric greeted them, although both mage and rogue shared an exasperated glance at the nicknames.

“Did I miss something?” asked Alyss, looking back and forth from her brother to the dwarf.

“While you were unconscious, Nathanael did a pretty good impression of an overprotective mabari, snapping at all and sundry who tried to bother you. And now, plants.” Varric shrugged good-naturedly. “Not too deep a nickname for this one.”

“I don't have the energy to be an enigma all the time, you know,” quipped Nathanael as he sat down next to her.

Alyss regarded Varric with amusement. “Is your goal to nickname the entire Inquisition by the time we close the hole in the sky? Who else has received an official Varric Tethras christening?”

Varric rolled his eyes, but he began to pack the papers away and the beginnings of a smile appeared. “Well, you’ve seen the head diplomat that Nightingale called in? One word: Ruffles. And of course,” he added over their restrained laughter, “I've known Curly since he came to Kirkwall as the Knight-Captain.”

Only one man struck Alyss as a high-ranking Templar, and she furrowed her eyebrows at the image of that repressed blond hair with _curls_. “Really? Cullen?”

Nathanael tutted. “I gave you a copy of The Tale of the Champion for your birthday last year! If you'd read it, you'd already have known that.”

“For shame,” agreed Varric, though his grin was now full-fledged and self-satisfied.

“Critique my reading habits all you like, but maybe do it after we've hit the road?” The sun had properly risen by now, and the maps had read that the Hinterland Crossroads were still half a day’s hike away. With a glance at her brother and Solas, Alyss added, “I assume you early-birds already ate?”

Both men nodded mutely, and Alyss pushed down the prickle of suspicion as she began dismantling her tent. She had yet to pinpoint the reason why Solas made her uneasy, and until she did, she wouldn't say anything.

As the foursome walked, Nathanael pulled up next to her and matched her stride, slightly ahead of Varric and Solas.

“You've never been subtle, sister-mine,” he murmured so as to avoid eavesdropping companions. “What's bothering you?”

“Do you mean life in general or on this particular morning?” quipped Alyss, to which she received only a well-meaning elbow in the ribs. “Alright, alright. How much do you trust Solas?”

Nathaniel blinked twice, his yellow-green eyes wide in surprise. “ _Solas_ is what's bothering you? Because he helped me pick elfroot this morning,” he concluded flatly.

Alyss lowered her voice to murmur, “I don't know why, but I've got a gut feeling that he's trouble- and not the good kind. Be careful around him, Thanael.”

Nathanael pressed one hand to his chest in theatrical dismay. “You wound me, Lyssie. When have I ever made a reckless decision in regards to strange men?”

“Do you want the list alphabetized or in numerical order?” she retorted. When Nathanael didn't laugh, she admitted, “It's a pretty short list, but as your twin sister, I just… worry.”

For several footsteps, Nathanael said nothing. Quietly, he replied, “I understand. Rest assured, however, while Solas knows several interesting theories about herbology and plants that I'm pretty sure only grow in the Fade, he's most definitely not for me.”

“I probably shouldn't be relieved, but I am. It's the baldness, isn't it?” deadpanned Alyss. While Nathanael tried to muffle a snort of laughter, she continued, “The only consistent thing about that list: they all had great hair.”

From behind the twins, Varric called, “Care to let us in on the joke, Snapdragon?”

Nathanael could only shake his head as he attempt to compose himself, so Alyss called back, “Inside joke, Varric. Ostwicker humor.”

After wiping a tear from his eye, Nathanael clapped his sister on the shoulder, careful to avoid the bow and quiver. “I'm glad you haven't changed, sister-mine,” he declared. “I'm very glad for that.”


	4. 3: The Trevelyans are Worrywarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Trevelyans can only properly communicate among each other and the author couldn't resist a reference to DA:2.

Alyss had blanched at the very thought of going to Val Royeaux. The possibility of being tried as the murderer of Divine Justinia was still very high, and being announced as the Herald of Andraste everywhere she went was not helping her reputation among the Chantry. Personally, Alyss was a fan of living her life and not getting killed by offended clergywomen. Therefore, when Nathaniel offered to deliver the news to Cassandra in her stead, Alyss immediately agreed.

When their party returned to Haven, she didn't even enter the gates: instead, Alyss slung her bow off of her back and asked a Templar with frosty politeness where she might find a target to practice on.

In hindsight, she could've worded that better, but the Templar’s comical trembling was perversely satisfying.

At first, the frigid mountain wind hardly nipped at her nose. However, as her quiver grew lighter, gripping her arrows began to cause a sharp tingling sensation in her fingertips. Alyss pressed onward, heedless to the pain and her straining muscles. The crunching footsteps of the troops from afar provided a good beat to test her agility against, and she could hear her own heartbeat thunder in sync. The clear, piercing _fwhip, fwhip, fhwip_ of her arrows hurtling through the air added a harmony to the violent song, and it felt like a balm on her nerves.

A separate, distinct set of crunching footsteps drew near, but Alyss stubbornly refused to turn and look at the intruder. She knocked another arrow, but it fell off center on her first attempt. With a frustrated growl, she attempted to fix it, but a warm gloved hand enveloped hers. Alyss jerked her head up, but her verbal immolation was put out before she could begin.

Commander Cullen’s brow was furrowed in a stern expression, but his hold was gentle as he pried her fingers from her weapons. “You'll catch your death out here,” he blustered. His amber gaze wouldn't meet her eyes, and that was what snapped her out of her shocked stillness.

“I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Commander,” snapped Alyss, attempting to snatch her bow back from him.

“You're running yourself into the ground,” he countered. “You're frightened because things are out of your control, and you think that you could sleep without having nightmares if only you were tired enough.” His voice softened the longer he spoke, and he finally glanced up to meet her gaze.

The concise summary of her feelings took the fire out of her temper, as did the pain evident in Cullen’s eyes. “How did you know?” Alyss asked defeatedly, her arms swinging back to her sides listlessly.

“I've seen it before,” he answered cryptically, and outstretched the hand that wasn't holding her bow hostage. The ghost of a smile played along the scar that marred his lips. “May I walk you back to your cabin, Lady Trevelyan?”

Alyss laughed louder than she ought to at that, but gripped Cullen’s hand tightly in case he misunderstood. Maker forbid she offend him and drive his kindness away. “Please do, Ser Cullen.”

They walked as far as the front gates hand-in-hand, where Alyss slid her hand away. Her fingers curled into a fist and she clasped her hands behind her back, trying to express serenity and confidence and whatever was proper for a minor religious icon. Alyss had an inkling that being contentedly hand-in-hand with the Commander wouldn't make The Propriety Checklist For Heralds As Approved By Josephine Montilyet.

Still, she wasn’t _rude._  Alyss bowed slightly as she accepted her bow back from Cullen, and pushed a weak smile up onto her face. “Thank you, Cullen. You told me something I needed to hear. I don’t know how to repay you for that.”

“That’s unnecessary, Lady Alyss,” he protested, but a small smile hid in the corner of his lips all the same. It may have been the cold, but Alyss was amused when a flush of pink darkened the tips of his ears.

“If you say so, Commander,” she allowed.

For a moment, she didn’t move away, and they stood outside of Alyss’ cabin, glancing at one another. Alyss fought the urge to outright stare: the starkness of the environment emphasised Cullen’s sharp features, and the man was already attractive. It wasn’t until Alyss glanced toward his eyes only to find them already trained on her face that she cleared her throat and stepped away.

“Thank you, again,” Alyss fumbled. She ran her thumb along the grip of her bow to focus on something other than the kindness in Cullen’s amber gaze.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down at his feet. “I… you’re welcome, Alyss,” he stuttered. “I should get back to work.”

“Yes. As- as should I.” Alyss didn’t bother waiting for Cullen’s inevitably endearing but awkward reply, and darted inside of her cabin as fast as the door would open for her.

To her surprise, her cabin wasn’t empty. Nathanael lay nonchalantly on her bed, a book held loosely in one hand and his feet propped up on the footboard. He didn’t look up as she entered, but she could see the corner of his mouth quirk upward.

“ _None_ of the doors in this town have locks on them, did you know that?” he remarked blithely. “It’s delightful.”

“You realise that you’ve now lead me to believe that you’ve stolen that book from some unsuspecting Chantry sister,” Alyss remarked. She tilted her head to look at the cover and tried to hold in a snort of laughter. “Although I don’t think she’ll miss her copy of _Swords and Shields_ since the author himself is in town.”

“I take back everything I’ve ever said about Varric as an author; his purple prose is _dreadful_ ,” drawled Nathanael, finally putting the book down. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and patted the space next to him.

Alyss obediently sat down, and Nathanael immediately pulled the pins and ties from her hair and began to slowly unwind each twist of her hair. The motions were familiar and from a lifetime before, when their limbs weren't so long and their eyes weren't so weary. Little Alyss would demand that her gangly limbed brother tie up her hair because her fingers were too clumsy, and they would sit in a nest of blankets and chatter away. Now, sitting cross-legged and surrounding each other, Nathanael spoke quietly and with firmness while Alyss did her level best to listen.

“Cassandra says there's a war council meeting planned for this afternoon,” he murmured. “Those were her exact words, Lyssie. _War council_.”

“What else would we call it, ‘thanael? You saw the Hinterlands, didn't you?”

His long-fingered hands stilled in her hair, and he sighed quietly. “I'm frightened of what will happen to you, Alyss. We both saw how much Cousin Sebastian… changed, and he _won_ his war.”

“Your argument is invalid: he also found himself a rather fierce princess, and love changes people,” Alyss countered.

The cloud of Nathanael’s brooding refused to lift, and he only grunted noncommittally in reply. Alyss rolled her eyes and clamoured around the bed until she sat facing her brother. She stared him down, looking down her noble’s nose and utilizing every skill she remembered her tutors drilling into her from the age of eight.

“I _will_ come out of this alright, Nathanael. That's what I need you here for, remember?” Her tone was light, but her stare was unrelenting. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Nathanael watched his sister for a moment, waiting for a flinch or a wavering gaze, but eventually gave in, shutting his eyes and breathing out a deep sigh. “You promise, Alyss?”

"I swear it on the soul of the most loyal mabari I've ever known, our dearly departed Comtesse de Pumpkin Face."

Alyss's completely blank expression overwhelmed Nathanael with laughter, and watching her normally stoic sibling grin wide brought a wide smile to her own face. Perhaps her promise wouldn't turn out to be naught but empty words. She hadn't believed her own words as she'd spoken them despite the invocation of the twins' childhood companion, but everything looked more hopeful when she sat side-by-side with her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World-building note: one of Sebastian Vael's great-aunts married into the Trevelyan clan the twins have a passing resemblance to the Vaels- minus the royal blue eyes, of course.


	5. 4: Fractured Redoubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> redoubt - noun: a temporary or supplementary fortification, typically square or polygonal and without flanking defenses.
> 
> dun dun dunnnnnnnn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in ten days? Are we living in the good timeline after all?

_To Madame Ambassador, Madame Spymaster, and Commander Cullen,_

_The meeting did not go well. Templars have broken ties, lead by Lord Seeker Lucius. I assume Nightengale’s spies know the finer details already. Grand Enchanter Fiona offered to meet us at Redcliffe. Still mulling the decision over._

_Made a detour after Val Royeaux. Expect an elven archer named Sera to arrive at Haven before us. Now pushing on to Ghislaine, to meet an Enchanter Vivienne. Nightengale, thoughts?_

_Return to Haven estimated two weeks. Take care of yourselves. Ladies, firmly insist that Cullen get some sleep. By order of the Herald, if needs be. -A. T._

As Leliana read Alyss’s letter aloud, her accent adding a curl of amusement to every phrase, Cullen fought the urge to rub at his neck. For all that Lady Alyss was short and to the point with her report, it didn't escape any of the advisors that she addressed only Cullen by name and prioritized his well being. Josie and Leliana had exchanged wry glances at that, but the final phrase drew a giggle from the Ambassador while Leliana’s smile had only grown wider.

By order of the Herald, if needs be. Alyss hated the existence of that moniker, and often refused to acknowledge it. That she deliberately brought it up for Cullen’s sake was... supremely unexpected, to say the least. For a brief moment, he pictured her in his mind’s eye: head thrown back with barking laughter, thick snowflakes stuck in her eyelashes, half-frozen fingers clasped in his own. Every word she said to him, it seemed, was a surprise.

“On that note, I think we ought to adjourn,” suggested Josephine. “We’ve been here for hours, likely, and I know I have some letters I need to respond to.”

“You’re right, Josie,” Leliana agreed, although not without a teasing smile aimed at Cullen. “Good night, both of you.”

“I won’t be retiring quite yet,” insisted Cullen. “A whole squad of Templars arrived from the Free Marches this morning, and I still haven’t read their reports of demon activity in that area yet.”

Leliana hummed in mild interest. “The Free Marches, you say? Do you know if any of them are from Ostwick?”

Cullen tried to remember the faces of the Templars, but even their highest ranking member who had acted as their spokesperson was a blur to his memory. “No, I don’t. It might be in the reports, however,” he offered.

“Good. Lady Trevelyan asked me to keep a look out for her Templar siblings before she left for Val Royeaux,” added the spymaster. “Althea, aged thirty-four, and Edmund, aged thirty-two.”

“I’ll keep my eyes out for their names,” Cullen promised. He wracked his brain again, searching for a sign of bright red hair or glittering green eyes among the Templar volunteers, but once again he came up empty. After wishing the ladies a good evening for work and sleep both, he retreated to his tent where the reports sat stacked up under a mabari paperweight.

Rather than starting at the top of the stack and diligently working his way through as he usually did, Cullen immediately began to thumb through the reports to scan the names scrawled across the top. For whatever reason, Alyss’ siblings jumped to the front of his focus. If he could find them, he reasoned, it would be one less thing for Alyss to worry about while out in the field.

Halfway through the stack, a broad, scrawling handwriting caught Cullen’s attention, and a sigh of relief escaped him as he read “Knight-Captain Edmund Trevelyan” titling one report. Cullen spread the wrinkled parchment across his wobbly and, hopefully, temporary desk.

The report detailed the debate that Edmund and his sister Althea had over joining the squad as it passed through Ostwick. The Knight-Captain had convinced his sister that they were useless in Ostwick, with their Circle disbanded with hardly any bloodshed. However, once the group of Templars landed in Ferelden, a raven carrying a decree from Lord Seeker Lucius found them, describing the order to consolidate their forces in Therinfall Redoubt. As the senior officer and the only Knight-Commander, Althea took it upon herself to change course and find out just what was happening among the higher-ups.

Cullen felt a iron-heavy feeling of dread curdling in his gut. After Alyss’ brief mention of Templar Command breaking ties with the Chantry, he didn’t want to think about what could be waiting for her eldest sister at the Redoubt. Meredith’s raving at the end sounded like it would’ve lead to to breaking off from the Chantry. Cullen shuddered to think of more Templars under the influence of red lyrium however likely or unlikely that circumstance actually was.

The rest of the report simply detailed the path they took across Fereldan to reach the Frostbacks, and Cullen made note that the Templar squad had passed through the Hinterlands just a few days after Alyss had left Haven for Val Royeaux. That thought reminded him that Alyss would return in two weeks, and that knowledge reassured him enough to bring a smile to his face. Despite having witnessed Alyss in battle, and knowing that she was always accompanied by her inner circle of companions, Cullen couldn’t help but worry for her safety. They were fighting demons and apostate mages and his own treacherous brethren, and it wasn’t unlikely that the next report might be written in Cassandra’s blocky hand or Varric’s precise script and explaining just how the only hope for Thedas was killed.

He shook his head at that depressing line of thought and tried to focus on the report again, but find that he had to squint to read the words. He hadn’t been keeping track of time, but he must've been pouring over Edmund Trevelyan’s report intently enough not to notice the sun’s slow decline. Cullen briefly entertained the thought of retrieving a candle from the Chantry to continue working through the stack of reports, but Alyss’ parting line resurfaced. He could hear it now in her flat Marcher accent, _Cullen, get some sleep._ The faintest smile would be hiding in her lips, amused but firmly insistent.

The thought brought a tired smile to his face, and Cullen murmured to himself, “If Her Worship insists.”

As his drifted further into the embrace of sleep, he remembered her sharp laugh and frigid fingers wrapped around his, and Cullen smiled into his pillow.


End file.
